Out With a Bang!
by Bura-sama
Summary: Yaoi, suicide... A certain someone reflects on his lost love ...


1346  
Bura-sama  
Thursday.January.17.2002  
Thursday.January.17.2002

Disclaimer: Digimon belongs in no way to me. I'm making no profit from this story. Really, I'm not. I don't own the characters, I'm merely using them for my sick and twisted fantasies, and no infringement is intended.

Warnings: This fic features homosexual situations, death, suicide, and extremely slight profanity. You have been warned, and any damage this fic might do to your mental stability is strictly your own fault.

Notes: I swore I'd never write a Taito. _  
For my sister, who loves this couple as much as I hate it..._

Out With a Bang!

I lie awake at night sometimes. I lie on my bed, not bothering to pull the covers over my body. My skin is cold sometimes with a chill that has nothing to do with the frigid air blowing in through my open window. I have new sheets now. My mother went out and bought them for me as soon as it happened. She didn't cry -- like everyone else -- she didn't look twice at your sickeningly pale body as the paramedics pulled you off of my bed. She just looked at all the blood that would never leave my bed, and went to buy me new sheets. My father brought a whole new bed in the next week. I have fresh clean sheets now, ones that are almost white. Ones that almost make me forget about what you did when I wasn't there to save you.

My sister took it bad when you _left _me -- us. I won't say the word "die," though I can't get through a day without it popping into my mind, followed of course by your beautiful blond hair and sweet blue eyes. I didn't think she'd take it so bad. Yeah, she'd known you since we were kids, but you two were never really that close. She cried her eyes out. She was the one who found you. The one who opened the door to be greeted with that coppery scent of blood. She told me she had thought it was me -- that I was the one with the six-inch hole through my gut. She cried her eyes out.

Your brother took it better than anyone thought he would. He didn't cry at your funeral; just stood there with that dazed expression in his eyes. He misses you a lot, you know. He told me so when they buried you. He told me that he didn't think he could go on without you. I guess he didn't take it all that great after all. I told him that you wouldn't want him to be so sad. I don't think my talk really helped him all that much.

I lie awake sometimes. My new sheets feel almost soft under my body. My tears chill my face most nights, but I can never summon up the urge to wipe them away. I remember when you used to lie here next to me. I remember when you used to pant and writhe beneath me. I remember when your soft blond hair was matted with sweat and your face scrunched up in ecstasy. I miss those days. I miss those nights.

We were best friends. Yeah, we fought sometimes, but that was to be expected from guys like us. Our friends would just laugh it off, and tell us that we should just save it for the bedroom -- which got a laugh out of everyone. I wished I could have seen that your smile was strained. I wish I could have heard that false ring in your laugh. Then I could have I asked you about it. I could have made you tell me what was wrong. I could have stopped you from hurting yourself.

You were like a flower beneath my shoe.

I stomped the life out of you.

I've always been told that boys aren't supposed to cry. Yet as I huddle here against my bed, I can't stop the tears from falling. I miss you so much. I wish I could have helped you... I wish I had just known. We _loved_ each other! Why the fuckin' hell did you just leave me!

Answer me! God damn you! Tell me why you left me! TELL ME!

... ... No answer, huh?

There's no point in yelling at you. I realize that. You couldn't help it. You were sick. You didn't know what you were doing. You really didn't want to take that knife and cut open your stomach like a fisherman gutting a salmon. ... Okay, that was not a nice mental image. Ugh. My fingers twitch as I feel the heaviness of the knife in my hand. The coldness of the blade always bites me back into reality before I go too far and just leave this horrible life. I couldn't get my hands on a gun. My parents would flip out if they knew I had stolen the knife. They worry about me.

I wonder if you hurt when you did it. I imagine you must have. I can see the despair and panic in your blue eyes when you realize that the knife wouldn't finish the job. 

Then you reached for the gun.

There was so much blood when I came home. It was everywhere, all over my bedroom. The police were there. Your parents were there. Your brother was sobbing hysterically in my sister's arms. I didn't want them to see you that way. So much blood.

Your brother asked me once, in the weeks following your _leaving_, what drove you to it. I didn't have an answer for him, though I knew the truth deep down in my heart. My sister found your note, flecked with blood on your body. She gave it to me. I didn't read it until after the funeral. I hated reading your note. It gave me something else to wonder about. 

Did I drive you into his arms? 

What did we do wrong? Was I not good enough? Our relationship wasn't purely based on sex! ... Please tell me our relationship was more than sex... 

Oh, I forgot. You can't really answer me. You're d-- _left_. 

I loved you, you know. More than life itself. I know you didn't love me. If you had loved me, then you wouldn't have d-- _left_. 

I get up in the dead of night, and crawl out of bed. I go over to my window and shut it quietly. I look down to the empty street below me. I picture you there, staring up at me like you did when we first started going out. Your eyes used to be full of passion and lust. The last time I saw them they were cold and empty. They were dead. 

I wish I had that gun right about now. 

I walk out of my room and go to my sister's. I crack open her door and try to remember when we had last shared a room. It's been years. Her wide brown eyes shine up at me. She worries about me too much. 

"Daisuke?" Her words are softly spoken, and I can tell she's been crying again. I walk into her room and sit down on her bed. She pulls me into a silent hug, and I think of how much closer we've become since you _left_. "Have you been thinking about Ta--" I can tell it hurts her to say your name. "Have you been thinking about him again?" 

I nod my little brother nod, and she wipes the tears away from my eyes. She can't stand to see me crying. "It's hard, you know." She rubs my back, and I sniffle back tears. "Did you get it for me?" I can feel her stiffen in our embrace. 

She pushes me back enough to look me in the eyes. "You're not going to do something stupid, are you?" She knows the answer. I know she's not going to get that gun for me. Damn. "Maybe you should talk to someone--" 

I get up and leave her room. I go back to mine, and throw myself face-first on the bed. The sheets smell like you. I know it's irrational, I know you've never touched this bed -- I'd know your scent anywhere. Takeru, why couldn't you have just stayed with me? Why couldn't you have loved me the way I loved you? 

I'm going to get a gun. I can't take it anymore. I can't take these hollow days and lonely nights. It's been building up for a while now, and I promise you this Takeru -- 

I'm going out with a bang. 

* * *

Sorry to be so deceiving, but I didn't want to just say Daikeru. I swore I'd never write a Taito, and I didn't. :)


End file.
